by Iris Yang
“Romance of the Three Kingdoms is a terrible translation for…San Guo Yan Yi,” Danny said. He was breathless after his regular exercise. His hair matted in sticky clumps to his forehead. “It doesn’t say anything about Yi.”
“I’m with you,” said Birch, sitting next to him on the floor. “But there is no easy way. Yi means so much—morality, duty, loyalty, decency, comradery—”
“Brotherhood.”
“Right. How in the world do you include so much in a title?”
“It’ll be this long.” Danny spread his arms wide. Flashing his charming smile, he ventured an idea. “How about The Virtuous War Between The Three Kingdoms?”
“Not bad. Beats the official translation.”
“Yi is a virtue everyone should follow.” Lowering himself to the floor, Mr. Ding joined them. “It’s an unwritten but accepted rule.”
Danny nodded. “So, what happened to the three brothers?” he asked, referring to the characters in the historical novel. “I mean in history. Did they die on the same day?”
Everyone in China knew the unforgettable oath taken by the three close friends in the classic book. Their vow—“though not born on the same day of the same month in the same year, we merely hope to die on the same day of the same month in the same year”—was often alluded to as the ultimate fraternal loyalty, the definitive example of Yi. Danny and Birch had used the phrase when they swore to be brothers.
“No,” replied Mr. Ding. With a pride of a devoted teacher, he was ready to elaborate. “Unlike their vow, they died on different dates in real life. They—”
Metallic sound and creaking wood cut short their conversation. The cell door swung open, and Jackal, the prison chief, barged in with four guards. They seized the two pilots by the arms and hauled them to their feet.
“Get your paws off us,” the airmen shouted in unison and tried to wrench their arms free. “We’ll go with you,” added Birch, taking Danny’s arm.
Side by side, the two friends walked out of the room. With a clang of the door, they were separated from their fellow prisoners who watched helplessly as they were taken away.
The Japanese led them to a small room at the far corner of the compound. They tied the two pilots back to back around a wooden pole. Thin leather straps bit deeply into their wrists and ankles.
The windowless room was hot and muggy. Birch almost felt relieved that they’d stripped off his uniform—before fear registered. The air stank of body odor, urine, and blood, too thick to inhale, so hot it seemed like a furnace.
Holding an iron ruler, Jackal paced back and forth between the two men. He was more agitated than normal. “How many atomic bombs do you have?” he barked in Chinese. “I mean the U.S.” His voice shook with fear and anger.
Atomic bomb? Birch knew nothing about that and doubted Danny knew anything either. He’d never heard the American mention a weapon by this name. How powerful is it? From the way Jackal talked, he guessed it wasn’t a conventional explosive device.
“Never heard of such a thing,” answered Danny.
“Tell me the truth.”
“That is the truth.”
“You are trying my patience,” shouted Jackal. “I do not have time to play games with you.” His eyes narrowed to the thinnest of slits. He was short. The top of his head didn’t even reach the airmen’s shoulders. “You could be shot, you know. We’ve only kept you alive for information we need.” He swept the ruler from left to right. The features of his face turned hard, as if the skin had suddenly been stretched over the bones. “You see what we have here?”
A naked bulb coated with grime dangled from the ceiling and dimly lit the room. Spots of congealed blood stained the mud-brick floor. Rusted shackles, whips of different sizes, heavy tongs and blades, and other devices were bolted to the walls. A clay stove with branding irons was tucked in a corner; fire crackled and hissed from time to time, giving out a sickly orange glow, making the room more oppressive. A wooden bench with leather straps stood by its side.
Jackal curled his lips, making a low chuckle. His yellow teeth were crooked and grotesque. “You will talk after I use them one by one.” He slapped the ruler against the palm of his other hand. “I will wring the words out of you. You might as well tell me now. Save us time and save yourselves pain.” He waited, purposefully letting the silence stretch out. His gaze bounced between the two men, studying them in a mute query.
Birch cringed in spite of his determination not to show fear. He’d seen Captain Zhang’s fingers and heard Mr. Ding’s hoarse voice. He knew Jackal was a sadist—not long ago, the midget had shot an officer in the face and beaten another to death.
How can I watch Danny go through hell like this? Birch’s features reflected the turmoil within as he wrestled with the horrid possibility. Danny was not only his best friend but also an American who had traveled halfway around the world to fight the war for China, for his country. But how could he protect Danny when his own life wasn’t even under his control? To hide his emotions, he rolled his lips inward, bunched his jaw, and wiggled his fingers, touching Danny behind him. He detected a slight movement from Danny’s hands on his back, the only connection between them.
Jackal advanced on Birch, apparently noticing his grimace. Tilting his head, he subjected his captive to an unhurried once-over. Then his beady eyes fixed on Birch’s bare chest.
After being imprisoned for six weeks, Birch was no longer muscular. A sleek sheen covered his upper body. A jagged diagonal scar crossed the length of his torso.
Using the tip of the ruler, Jackal traced the pencil-thin scar he’d inflicted over a month ago. His gaze lingered there as if admiring his previous work. Then he tilted his head back. His gaze zeroed in the Chinese pilot’s face. Without breaking eye contact, he took a step back, swung the ruler in his hand, and slashed it across Birch’s chest.
Birch snapped his head to the side to avoid the impact. His head bumped hard against the wooden pole. The tail end of the ruler caught the bottom of his chin before slitting his chest. Blood spilled from the open wound. The burning pain stole his breath.
“So, how many?”
Birch screwed his eyes shut. His hands squeezed into fists so tight that all the blood was wrung out of them. Taking gulps of air, he clenched his jaw. His whole body tensed as he braced himself for the next attack. Even with his eyes closed, he knew Jackal was getting closer to him, examining him. He could smell alcohol on the little man’s breath.
After a beat, Jackal slashed again, putting all his strength behind it.
Birch forced steel to his backbone as the iron ruler went up and down. His eyes rolled back under the lids. Sweat poured down his face. It took every bit of strength to endure the pain. Soon his chest was crisscrossed with bloody marks, but he didn’t allow himself to utter a sound.
“You said the U.S. dropped the bomb,” Danny yelled, waging a futile struggle against his bonds. “How would he know anything?”
“He is with you.”
“Why don’t you ask me then?”
Jackal moved to the American. “I see your leg is healed nicely.” He paused for effect, twisting the ruler in his hands. Then, in a calm malicious voice he said, “Let me check it.”
The smack made Birch’s heart sink. “You sick bastard!” He twisted his body, struggled like a tiger trying to free himself from the restraints. His deep-set eyes blazed with pure hatred. Tied back to back, he couldn’t see clearly, but he heard Danny’s painful groan and felt his shudder.
“Tell me. Otherwise, your leg will be broken again.”
The blunt claim filled Birch with desperation.
A moment later, another lash came down. This time, Danny screamed and cursed.
“Stop!” Birch felt sick to his stomach when he imagined the knifelike edge ripping Danny’s unhealed wounds. He bowed his head as if the haunting thoughts weighed him down.
Wild with terror, he had to bite his lip to keep himself from begging the enemy. He knew nothing ab
out the atomic bomb. And even if he had known, he wouldn’t give up such a secret. Giving a confession, even a false one, had a bad connotation; it showed weakness. As a proud airman, how could he bend to the enemy under torture? As Birch wrestled with the predicament, he tasted blood in his mouth, as bitter and dark as his thoughts.
“How many?” Jackal demanded. Beneath his low brow, his eyes turned even more hostile. He raised the ruler. Blood, Birch’s and Danny’s, dripped from the tip. He let several seconds lapse and, hearing nothing, he stroked again.
Still no answer…
Silence meant defeat. Anger infused Jackal’s face with color. His madness escalated. “I will burn your leg.” His voice filled with venom, cutting through the stillness like a dagger.
“Soon your leg will be useless. After that I will burn your other leg. When I am done, you will never walk again.” He raced toward the clay stove.
The viciousness of his statement unhinged Birch. His downcast head snapped up. “Stop!” Blood drained from his face. His eyes were wild with fright. “Wait.” The exclamation caused his voice to crack. “I’ll…I’ll tell—”
“Birch, don’t—”
“I can’t let him—”
“Tell me. Now!” Jackal faced Danny, the iron ruler high in the air.
“One thousand,” Birch blurted out.
“One…” The ruler dropped to the floor with a thud. The little man looked like he’d seen a ghost. Staggering back a few steps, he changed into a different person: pathetic and crushed. The madness vanished. So did his spirit. He leaned against the wall, his head hung low, upper body hunched forward. His mouth twitched, seemingly on the verge of a sob. Then he murmured something in Japanese as if he was praying.
Before long, his evil spirit crept back. In a whoosh of anger, he took several huge steps and picked up the ruler. “Is that the right number?” Facing Danny, he lifted it over his head.
“Why ask”—Danny’s voice was no more than a whisper—“if you don’t believe us?”
“Baka,” Jackal barked. A muscle flicked at his jaw, his eyes bulged. “Goddamned Americans.”
Neither Danny nor Birch understood the sudden feebleness and outburst of rage. They had no idea how devastating this false information might seem to the enemy. The day before, August 6, the U.S. Army Air Force had detonated the first atomic bomb over Hiroshima, causing widespread destruction and hundreds of thousands of deaths. If one nuclear bomb had destroyed a city, one thousand would wipe Japan from the face of the earth forever.
Ignoring Birch’s wail of protest, Jackal sent the iron ruler down onto Danny’s leg again.
Chapter 8
“They’re going to kill us,” Mr. Ding exclaimed. “All of us.” It was three days after the airmen’s interrogation. He was standing before the front window of the cell. Anxiety shadowed his face as he twirled around. His eyes looked shocked behind his broken glasses.
“How do you know?” Captain Zhang lifted his head.
“I just heard it.” Mr. Ding hitched his chin toward the outside. Early morning sunlight poured through the cracks of the boarded-up window. “The guards were talking.”
“They said, ‘Kill all?’” the captain asked again, straightening up. He moved toward Mr. Ding.
“I think so. My Japanese is limited. But I think I understood.”
“I’m not surprised,” Danny said. He was sitting on the floor, his face tense. “This won’t be the first or the last time.”
Zhou Ming joined the conversation, standing with his feet planted slightly apart and hands in his pants pockets. “After they invaded Nanking, the Japs killed thousands of people, including surrendered soldiers.”
“Three hundred thousand,” Birch confirmed. He sat slouching on the floor next to Danny. His uniform concealed most of his wounds, but cuts were visible at the bottom of his chin and under his left eye.
“Both my father and brother were killed during the massacre. They were—” Zhou Ming swallowed a few times, trying to talk, yet the words died on his lips.
Danny had heard the story before, and he nodded in sympathy. Like Zhou Ming, his father and brother had worked for the Nationalist Army. Their regiment had been ordered to defend Nanking and later to surrender. Nearly everyone in the battalion had died, some during the fight, but most after laying down their arms. Zhou Ming learned that they’d been tied up in lines, chased into the Yangtze River, and machine-gunned by the Japanese. Thousands of bodies floated downstream, turning the water red for days.
“Not long before we were…” Loath to use the word “captured,” Danny faltered, then cleared his throat and continued. “I read a report. One hundred and fifty American POWs in the Philippines were killed.” Burned alive, he added grudgingly in his mind.
As the likelihood of defeat loomed closer, the Japanese had sunk into madness. They’d turned to frantic acts of rage and bloodshed in parts of China and other Asian countries. A massacre could come about as an outburst of the vengeance-seeking Japs like Jackal, Danny thought. Or it could unfold as a matter of higher order. That disturbing prospect deepened the furrow between his brows.
“I don’t want to die before…” Mr. Ding’s face turned pale. He stood rigidly, his hands clasped in front of him. Six months earlier he’d been arrested as a communist resistant when the Japanese traced some anti-Japanese pamphlets to his classroom. To this day, he refused to admit responsibility. “My wife was pregnant when…” His voice cracked. He leaned back to the window frame as if pushed by an invisible hand. “I don’t even know whether I have a son or a daughter…”
“We can’t sit around and wait to be slaughtered like lambs,” Captain Zhang said. His uplifted eyebrows and darkened long scar emphasized his fiery spirit. He shook the sturdy boards that bolted their window. “Either we break for it or wait to die.”
“What can we do?”
The question hung in the air. No one had an answer. They’d never been allowed outside the compound except for a few times when the Japanese forced them to repair roads or dig trenches. Heavily armed forces surrounded them. There was no way to escape.
Back and forth the captain paced as everyone watched. Minutes ticked by. Except for his steps, there was no sound. The silence in the room was nerve-racking.
Abruptly Captain Zhang stopped pacing and turned to the American. “Dan Ni, you’re wounded the worst. Tonight, call out. Act as if you’re getting worse. Obviously, we’ll play along. Tell the guard you know more about the atomic bomb, whatever the hell that is, and that you’re willing to give them more information in exchange for treatment. Hopefully, in the middle of the night, the stupid guard won’t think before he opens the door.”
Trying hard to judge the feasibility of the plan, no one said anything.
After a pause, Mr. Ding aired his opinion: “It’s not much, but it’s worth a try. Let’s do it. Tonight.” His pale face was suddenly infused with color. “Worse to worse, the guard won’t care. But with any luck, he might be curious enough to open the door.”
“On second thought,” Captain Zhang lifted his right index finger, “hold off until tomorrow night. Let’s pray they won’t start killing today.”
“Why wait?”
“Haven’t you noticed? It’ll be School Boy’s turn tomorrow. He’s good to Danny. We’ll have a better chance.”
“Good call.” Mr. Ding patted the captain on his back.
Murmurs filled the cell, hope brightening the bleak mood.
“But right off the bat,” Danny spoke up, “you have to promise not to kill him. All of you.” Sitting on the floor and leaning against the mud-brick wall, he looked haggard and worn. His right hand went to his pants pocket, touching the medical bottle given to him by the guard. There were still a few pills left. In the past six weeks, a strange connection had formed between him and School Boy. The young guard had stopped to talk from time to time and offered fruits and candies in secret. His ability to communicate in English had improved dramatically.
&nbs
p; All eyes turned to Danny.
The captain muttered a foul curse. “Why?” His thick eyebrows furrowed. Everyone in the room mirrored his baffled expression.
“We can’t use his kindness then abuse it. I won’t do it unless you all agree.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“I’m dead serious. Don’t have time—”
“You’ve got that right. We’ve got no time to play priests or monks. He’s our enemy.” Captain Zhang dismissed Danny’s request with an impatient wave. “He will kill you if he’s ordered to. He won’t hesitate—”
“And I won’t think twice to fight back. But that’s not a man’s way.”
“Not a man’s way…” growled the captain in frustration. “When have they acted like men? I can’t believe what you’re suggesting after what Jackal did to you and Birch.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Why do we have to follow useless rules and morals when they don’t?” Shifting his weight from one leg to the other, he glared at Danny.
Mr. Ding sided with Captain Zhang and quoted a proverb. “‘Deal with a man as he deals with you.’ An eye for an eye. That’s fair.”
“No. We’re not animals,” Danny said without averting his eyes from the captain’s glare. “If we do what they do, then we’re no different than them. Killing School Boy—”
“Danny is right,” interrupted Birch. “Killing the boy would be ruthless. He’s just a kid. Let’s tie him up.”
“A bullet from a kid is as deadly as any other bullet.” Captain Zhang shrugged, showing his distaste.
Zhou Ming turned his death stare on the captain and moved closer to the two pilots. “Who gives you the right to call the shots? The Nationalist is the leader of this war.”
All at once, several men in Nationalist Army uniforms followed suit and stood next to Zhou Ming. A line split the room—the Nationalists versus the Communists.
“Communism is the future of China,” retorted Captain Zhang. “We’ll fight all capitalists, and we’ll win. Mark my words.”
Zhou Ming took a long stride toward the captain, closing the gap between them. His fists clenched at his side.